Darker Side of You
by Anachronaticon
Summary: The vampire planeswalker Sorin gets ambushed during a simple mission in his home world Innistrad, and he gets in conflict with an interplanar organisation of unknown power. This leads to a chain of unexpected events that have an impact on the entire multiverse, and Sorin himself discovers that he still has some love left in the darkest corners of his heart.
1. Chapter 1

A flash of silver, resembling in colour the moon high above, could be seen for less than a moment. The void left after the disappearance of the silver was replaced with dark red blood. The huge, hairy being stumbled backwards, fighting to regain its balance. It snarled darkly as it fell over a stone, hit one of the countless trees, and rolled around on the ground, obviously weakened. The light from the clear, round moon was blocked out by the shape of a man walking closer, leaving the werewolf in darkness. His steps were confident, his smile condescending.

"I honestly expected more. You disappoint me, lycanthrope," said the man as he drew forth his blade. The sword was sleek, ornamented with stylized leaves and vines, and seemed to shimmer in the faint moonlight. He held it in both hands, pointing downward, and then thrust it into the whimpering beast below him. In a single, rapid movement, he wiped the blood off his sword and put it back into its sheath. His attention soon moved to what awaited in the horizon, soon to be hidden behind a rising sun; the village of Estwald. With rapid yet elegant footsteps, he strode towards the small town.

Gadrick raised his hand to his forehead to see past the first few beams of sun that slipped between the leaves of the dense Wittal woods. He could see something moving between the shades, not more than about 200 metres away from the walls he patrolled. The city often had travellers visiting relatives, walking through, or seeking shelter, but very few people were foolish enough to travel at night. Any citizen of Innistrad would know that during the dark hours, horrible things were out, things that no sane person willingly faced alone. And even if one, deranged man had walked through the woods at night and survived, he would most likely be coming by the main road. Not even a madman would dare to try his luck in the wilderness. Gadrick gripped his spear with both hands. The pauldron on his right shoulder clanked softly. He looked over his shoulder and half shouted, half whispered into the village behind him.

"Lelan!" A few seconds passed, and a thin man wearing the same uniform as Gadrick appeared. He seemed to be at least twice the other's age, and had a grumpy expression smeared across his face.

"Aye," Lelan said, "what's it 'bout this time?" His voice had a tone like that of a person who had just been denied a day off. Gadrick nodded towards the forest and pointed with his spear. At first, Lelan seemed uninterested and shrugged lightly, but then he noticed the shade moving towards them. He entered the same stance as his younger brother-in-arms.

"Any ideas what it might be?" Gadrick glanced hopefully at Lelan. The old man reluctantly replied in a low voice.

"Well, if we're lucky, it's a stray zombie from one of 'em ghoulcallers."

"But is that what you really think it is?"

"We might not be lucky." He paused, muttering a short prayer. "By the way it walks; I'd say that's a perfectly livin' creature. And also one that's able to survive a night in the woods. A vampire, most likely. And a powerful one too."

Gadrick shivered. He had been trained for this kind of meeting, but he had never met a real, living vampire with its fangs still intact. Something told him that Lelan was just as nervous, which only served to scare him even more. For almost a minute he was balancing on the edge of panic, only barely keeping himself calm. Then he suddenly realized that in his struggle to keep his composure, he hadn't noticed the shade disappearing. And only then did he feel the hand that rested nonchalantly on his shoulder. Gadrick peed himself.

With his hands on the shoulders of the two cathars, the vampire thought about how easy it had been, and a smug grin appeared on his shadowy face. All it had taken to get past two of the Avacynian church's elite warriors was a menacing walk and a simple invisibility spell. The younger of them smelt of piss, probably wetting himself from fear. The older one was the first to speak. His voice had a tone of suppressed terror, and it shivered lightly.

"Who are you?" The vampire almost sighed; it was such an obvious question. A human is about to die, and what he wants to know is the name of his killer, as if that would help the least bit. Nevertheless, he answered the question.

"Sorin Markov," he said, then drew his sword and slew both of the men before any of them had time for their facial expression to change into surprise. Sorin felt generous. Not only had he saved them from a life in misery and fear, he had also answered a question even though answering it would not benefit him in any way. "This could be a good day," he whispered to himself as he turned and walked further into the town of Estwald, letting his sword slide out of the younger cathar. He heard a thump as the body hit the ground.

Sorin walked slowly towards the center of the town, as the sun spread its light over ever more of the land, reaching into dark corners and driving away shadows. The fog became thinner by every minute passing, playing with the sunbeams in its last time before it would be gone until the sun once again left Innistrad in darkness. Shadows escaped wherever the sun touched, and Sorin could see the scenery changing as he moved past.

In the middle of Estwald, there was a big, open place, probably hosting a market during the day hours. On the other side of the place, Sorin's destination lay, casting ominous shadows over the smaller buildings around it. The solid stone of the building was a dark grey, making it seem a colossal, massive shadow among the white and brown framework houses that made up most of the town. Gargoyles protruded all along the edges higher up, staring blindly into the air. The place had an eerie feel that signalled both authority and pride.

Speeding up his pace, Sorin walked over to the door. He grabbed the ring on the lions-head shaped doorknocker and banged it against the door once. There was a long silence, and he knocked again. A few seconds later, the door was opened by a servant in rich yet subtle clothes. The owner of the house obviously had more than enough money. The servant stared at Sorin for a little longer than what would be polite. He probably wondered who this mysterious man could be, and why he chose such a time to visit.

"May I help you, sir?" The subordinate undertone to the servant's voice revealed that despite his rich clothing, he was still regarded as a lesser human by his master. Sorin smiled, revealing his fangs, and enjoyed the shocked and terrified expression on the servant's face.

"May I meet the mayor? I should like to converse with him for some moments' time," Sorin said in a gentle and friendly voice. The servant hesitated, and then muttered a quick refusal before shutting the door right in Sorin's face. The smile on the planeswalker's face was suddenly replaced by a cold glare. A single kick was enough for him to break down the door. Splinters of wood blasted off into all directions, spreading all over the pompous decorations inside the house. Sorin spotted the servant running up the stairs, and stopped his heartbeat using his knowledge of sangromancy, the art of manipulating bloodstreams and life forces. He took two steps a time, coming to the top of the staircase in no time.

The sound of footsteps, the rustling of silk, and the creaking of wood came from inside the master bedroom. Then, all of sudden the door was broken down, and the mayor – wearing only his nightwear – was pinned to the floor. Sorin had one foot on the little man's chest, and the point of his sword at his throat. The planeswalker's voice was little more than a whisper.

"I want the truth, mayor. Who else is in that demon cult of yours?" The mayor's eyes moved hastily around while the man tried to push himself a little away from the tip of Sorin's sword. Sorin replied by pressing the sword even harder against the mayor's throat.

"I-I have no idea w-what you are talking about," the little man said, his voice shivering and cracking. This was not the answer Sorin had been looking for. He stomped the mayor's hand with the heel of his boot, and asked again.

"Think properly through your words this time. If you give me some of that rubbish again, I might become angry with you. And there is nothing more terrifying than me when I'm angry."

"I believe you are mistaken," a feminine voice stated softly from somewhere behind Sorin. "The fire is more furious than you could ever imagine, pretty boy." Before Sorin had the time to turn and get a look at the female, a blast of compressed, fiery-hot air hit him and knocked him through the closed window. He could hear the building behind him explode, and saw flames rushing outwards at tremendous speed, before he hit the ground and was knocked unconscious.


	2. Chapter 2

Fog banks, darkness and a hammering pain filled Sorin's head. As the fog slowly lifted, and his eyelids regained their ability to part, the pain became increasingly intense, now also banging away at his eyes. The light hurt. Getting used to the sudden light of day took some time, and in the meantime, Sorin discovered that he couldn't move. His gradually improving eyesight let him notice chains. Chains covered in runic inscription and wrapped around his arms and legs. There was something very wrong, apart from the obvious fact that he didn't have complete control over the situation. He could see a tree, a stone fence, some fields. And a red-haired woman, almost just a girl. She smiled at him.

"Doing alright, vampy," she asked and giggled a little. "I certainly hope so. Those chains are nothing personal, just needed to be safe. Oh, and that thing at the mayor's house. No bad feelings, eh?" Sorin stared at her with his mouth half open and an expression of surprise.

"Safe? How can you be talking about safety when you just tore down a building and almost burned me to death? You are the last person to be talking about safety!" She tilted her head a little, and her smile turned into a worried frown.

"Now, sweetie, you mustn't judge me. I only did what I had to do," she said, and grinned at him. "Don't be such a pansy-ass." In complete and utter silence, Sorin sat up. He had gotten enough of this silly girl and what she mistook for wit. Staring hatefully into the air, he tried to use his blood magic. It would stop her heart within seconds, but for some reason, his powers didn't seem to work. "I guess I should have told you about that too, the girl said. "The chains are imbued with powerful runes that will keep you from being a danger. Though they're not unbreakable, they should be able to hold you. Also, I'm not so sure if you're unbreakable either, so don't do anything I'd do, alright?" She leaned in closer, all tease and silliness gone from her face, and added: "I'm being serious now. If you try anything funny, I will break you and it will not be nice for any of us." Sorin grunted and turned away from her.

A silhouette moved swiftly through the shadows of Estwald. The huge house of the deceased mayor did less to conceal him than it usually did, being nothing but a ruin of what it once was. Piles of stone and burnt wood towered up like tiny mountains, looking ready to topple and bury an innocent bystander. Silently and without disturbing the illusion of peace, the silhouette escaped into an unseen opening somewhere between the rubble giants. Night remained untouched and as quiet as ever.

Blood dripped from the edge of a silver knife and puddled on a stone altar, finding its place in the shallowly engraved demonic symbols. A voice spoke loudly in a strange language consisting mainly of scraping noises, cough-like sounds, and drowned vowels. Two shadowy figures carrying bowls of some unknown substance walked into the light above the altar, the only light in the entire room. Somewhere in the darkness around, other voices joined in, each speaking different words, different language. At first the sound was like a cacophonic wall of ramblings, echoing off the walls and creating an utter sonic chaos. But after some time, it seemed to fall into a rhythm, and it was almost as if the voices together created a new language, one far mightier than any of its components. And then, so sudden that the emptiness left behind made it hard to focus, every single voice stopped. One of the two bowl-bearers stepped forth and spoke to the crowd.

"Our high priest is dead, as you well know. But I am sure it will please you all to know that his death will be avenged." If there was a light that could shine up under his hood, the wide grin on his face would be visible to everyone in the room.

Sorin hated being woken up. He especially hated being so with a boot thump in the back. It didn't exactly get better that the sleep he'd been having was the kind of sleep where you are on the brink of waking up all the time, never really sleeping, constantly walking through half dream and half reality. Sorin felt his body ache as he tried to move, and he wondered if it wouldn't have been better not to sleep at all. The girl stood next to him, leaning on a tree.

"Hurry up, old man," she said loudly. "We don't have all the time in the world." Sorin stared at her, considering whether or not he should attack her and drain her blood. He decided not to, after noticing her hair. In the light from the sunset last night, her hair had seemed as if it burned, but now it actually did. Her hair seemed to be replaced by some sort of hair-shaped fire, and her eyes glowed orange.

"Feeling a bit hot?" The faint outline of a smile appeared on Sorin's mouth. "Or could you just not conceal the burning pit of hell inside you?" The girl did not seem amused.

"Don't exhaust yourself, monster. I've heard it all before." As she spoke, she clenched her fists and got a strained expression. It was obvious that she tried not to lash out at him. Sorin immediately saw where this was going, and smiled grimly.

"Tell me… does your hair burn… down there, too?" That was enough to make the fire-mage break. She hurled a fireball towards Sorin, and it would have turned him into ashes if he didn't know that she was going to do exactly that and had already stepped aside. The girl's short moment of carelessness, let Sorin advance, and before she could notice that he wasn't hit and prepare a new blast, the vampire had one arm on each side of her. He held the chains around her back, so that she was locked between his arms, less than ten centimetres from him. "Now, fire-mage. Release me, or you stay locked with me." Sorin smiled again, knowing that he had defeated her.

When the chains were removed from his wrists, Sorin suddenly felt much better. His powers were back, and he no longer had to keep his hands together. The girl looked almost embarrassed, taking the chains without a word.

"What's your name," Sorin said to her while studying the sky, planning his travel further through Innistrad.

"Chandra," the girl said. "My name is Chandra Nalaar."

"Why are you here, Chandra?"

"I can't say," she whispered, her voice fading into nothing. She obviously didn't want to say a word about it.

The attention of the couple was suddenly brought away from the conversation, and towards the road. It was early morning, and the sun had been shining brightly only a few seconds ago. Of course, there had to be something blocking the light. Something big. Sorin and Chandra gaped at the thing that stood before them.


	3. Chapter 3

Most people of Innistrad know how to defeat an imp or a lesser geist. They also know to hide and run from werewolves and vampires while the cathars take care of it. But not even the most experienced warriors among the cathar troops would face an archdemon, even when outnumbering it ten to one. But Sorin was no regular citizen of Innistrad.

The shadow over Sorin and Chandra was the silhouette of an archdemon, seven metres tall, twisted horns protruding from its diabolic face. It drew its lips back, revealing a menacing row of teeth. The demon grinned at them, entirely aware of its power and certain that there was nothing either of the mages could do to him.

Sorin relaxed every muscle, his face entering a completely emotionless, yet extremely attentive state. He slowly drew forth his sword, the silver shimmering as he did. A smile flashed across his lips for just a second. Gracefully and calm, he walked towards the fiend in front of him.

"Now, demon. Do you dare face me? Do you even know who I am?" The demon laughed, its voice booming, terrifying, like a huge drum shrieking in agony.

"You are food, little creature. I don't care who you think you are, or what kind of powers you have. To me, you are all food," it said, still smiling maliciously. In response, Sorin grabbed his sword with both hands, swung it over his head, and then jumped at his enemy while cutting downwards. The blow would have been deadly to a human, it would have split them in two. But the demon was made of harder – and also, bigger – stuff. The charge did however hit it and open a bleeding wound in its belly, a wound that pulsed and twitched as black blood, thick as pine sap, seeped out of it. The demon growled, obviously suffering more pain than he had expected.

A raven landed on a nearby fencepost. The black carrion feeder made a terrifying, heart-breaking noise. On Innistrad, the ravens are seen as messengers, and this particular kind is a messenger of death. The demon was probably not familiar with human traditions, but it seemed to understand the raven did not predict a bright future of pillaging and murdering for him. Sorin sensed its uncertainty, and made full use of that tiny moment, when the demon was still in doubt. Slashing upwards, he opened another wound, this one crossing the previous one diagonally. Without slowing down for a second, he spun around, carving a horizontal wound into the now screaming demon. As the titan fell down to its knees, Sorin lifted his sword once again, ready to deliver a fatal blow. Had it not been for the fireball that incinerated the fiend, Sorin would have killed it. Instead, he thrust into a pile of ash and bones. Chandra giggled behind him.

"Look, vampire boy. I took care of it." Sorin turned slowly, and gave her a hateful gaze. He knew it didn't matter who killed the demon as long as it ended up being dead, but it still bothered him.

The raven still sat on the fencepost, staring not at the pile of ash that could have been the source of its next meal had it not been turned to dust, but at the couple that had just brought down the demon. It cawed and took to the air, looking one last time at them. Somehow, Sorin knew that he hadn't seen the last of this bird.

Thraben is a huge city to the people of Innistrad, and a sphere of safety in a world of monsters and darkness. It is important for people constantly plagued by the knowledge that they might die any moment, to have such a symbol of force and divinity as Thraben is. But on an entirely different plane, there is a city so big that no citizen of Thraben would ever believe it to be true. Ravnica, the city of guilds, stretches across an entire plane, never ending, never sleeping. It is said that no person has ever mapped the entire extent of the plane, and that there exists parts of the city that nobody has ever heard about, nor seen. And in a back alley, apparently inhabited only by rats, Sorin and Chandra landed. The latter screamed in frustration and stomped on a rat.

"I told you I'm not good at planeswalking with a passenger! Look around you! We were supposed to land on the main square in front of New Prahv!" She was furious, and her naturally auburn hair was now literally burning, lighting the dark alley with an orange glow.

"Well, if that situation is a problem to you, why didn't you let me escape that plane alone? I'm the one who's hunted. And if you wanted to leave, you could have gone to an entirely different plane than Ravnica," Sorin said, slightly annoyed.

"I told you already, I have to follow you, like it or not!"

"I'm getting tired of you following me around. If you don't leave me after we've met your so-called friends here on Ravnica, I will personally see to it that you are unable to follow me."

"Oh yes? You could try!" Chandra's hair was burning brighter than ever, and her eyes glowed with the same furious intensity. Sorin could feel the warmth very well, as they stood closer to each other than he appreciated, at least with her hair hot enough to melt stone. He took a step back and turned around, silently walking out of the alley. Chandra ran after him, shouting insults, yet not attempting to stop him. A raven landed on a small ledge under a window. Its black eyes followed Sorin and Chandra as they walked away into the eternal city before them.


	4. Chapter 4

Ravnica is indeed an unusual place, and even more so is the area surrounding Nivix, guild hall of the Izzet League. Chemisters, electromancers and staticasters conduct their high-risk experiments without concern for damage to property, psyche or civilians. It is no secret that living in Izzet territory means you will probably not enjoy the miseries of old age. And today was no day for the technomages to stray from their usual destructive path. Lightning, sparks and a shifting glow emerged from a crack in small alley. At first sight, it could seem like the crack was in the wall at the end of the alley, but at closer inspection, it would reveal itself to be in front of – not between – the old stone bricks. The air hummed as the crack in space widened. At first, the expansion went slowly, but it suddenly burst out. Then the crack collapse just as fast, only barely enough time for a man to fall out of it, landing with a thump on the street. This man seemed somehow out of place, as if he didn't belong here. Contributing to this impression was the obvious confusion and astonishment with which he greeted the city. Nonetheless, he pulled his dark hood up and walked down the street. He was out of his element, yes, but he was determined to let nothing stop him from accomplishing whatever he had come here for.

Sorin and Chandra walked down a street that led from the main square of New Prahv and into the darker parts of town. Their argument had long since silenced and been replaced by them refusing to say a single word to each other. Sorin walked hastily with unusually long steps, while Chandra – struggling to follow – half walked half ran after the vampire that could hardly be called her captive any more. The roles seemed completely reversed; she was the one struggling to follow, she had to do whatever Sorin said. It brought her but a little joy that he was soon going to be imprisoned. He was walking straight towards the one place he should have stayed away from as possible, not knowing what horrible fate he would meet her. Chandra suddenly realised she was smiling. The world wasn't that bad after all.

The loud thumps of heavy leather boots stepping on stone floor echoed through the grand hall. The hall was enormous, its ceiling so high up that several of the painters that had decorated it with scenes from Ravnican myth and history died when they fell during their work. Marble pillars kept the ceiling itself from falling down as well, but they were so slim and seemed so fragile that one could not properly understand why the building was still intact and not a pile of rubble. At the end of the long hall was a throne, and a tall, thin man, almost as pale as one of the pillars, seated on the throne. He looked far too thin for both the throne and the three layers of thick, expensive clothes that he was wearing. And when he spoke, the voice was one of authority, yet it lacked the elegance and nobleness which he was trying to emulate.

"Welcome back, Rethos. Is everything prepared?" The man that had been walking down the hall stopped in front of the throne and kneeled in front of it.

"Yes, my lord," he said. "All is going according to plan."

"Very well," the man on the throne replied. "Have you made sure that all our requirements to safety have been met?"

"Yes, my lord." The man on the throne rose and began to walk down the hall, towards the exit in the other end. He limped slightly on his left leg, but in a constricted way suggesting that he was trying not to let it show.

"Let us go see that planeswalker, then."

When Sorin and Chandra arrived at the chancery, dozens of soldiers had lined up in several rows on each side of the walkway leading to the entrance. In place of a guild symbol, they carried a different mark, its meaning unknown to Sorin. He never liked heraldry he had never seen before. It usually meant that he had never heard of the group behind it, and so he had no way of knowing what their motives were. And he was entirely certain that men hiding beneath such an amount of soldiers had motives they did not want anyone to interfere with.

Sorin noticed just too late the magical trap that kept him from walking further. He was ensnared, trapped like a rat. Knowing that panic didn't solve anything, he tried to think through possible solutions, though his mind was far from serene. Then suddenly, he realized that there was one little detail he had ignored. Chandra wasn't trapped. She stood outside, apparently either not caring or not noticing that he was trapped. His first thought was to call out to her for help, but the words dissipated from his tongue just as he opened his mouth. He was set up. Chandra walked towards the entrance, and four guards grabbed Sorin and chained him up. Sorin cursed himself for his foolishness.

"Welcome home, Chandra. I trust you have brought me the planeswalker?" The tall, thin man on the throne smiled as the words escaped his narrow lips. When he saw the four men walk in with Sorin, he added: "I knew you would prove useful to us, girl." Sorin struggled to break free, but the chains that held him were of the same kind that Chandra had used on him on Innistrad; nearly unbreakable and magic-disabling.

"What kind of trick is this?!" He snarled, rattling the chains and almost knocking one of the men over.

"Relax, Sorin Markov. We shall become very well acquainted before I'm done with you."


	5. Chapter 5

"Now that you are a part of our little… society, there are some rules you should know about. First of all, you are not allowed to reveal anything about what happens here to outsiders. Well, that won't be a problem for you, considering the muting spell we put on you. Anyway, second, you do not go anywhere unless you have been instructed to. You are a piece in an enormous game right now, and we like to have full control of the position of our pieces. Again, not a problem for you. Spells save us a lot of trouble, don't they? Three, you must at all times obey every order that is given to you. Free will is the death of perfection. And, yes, we have a spell on you for that too. Sorry about all the magic, it's just that we don't trust you." The man in the too-big regal clothing turned and walked away from Sorin, leaving him completely alone in his magically enchanted prison. "We hope you will prove as useful to us as rumours have it, planeswalker. Sleep well."

Dominaria is the centre of the multiverse, the plane that exists where all the other planes intersect. This unique plane is a nexus for planeswalking, all planeswalkers reach Dominaria sooner or later, many of them originating there. There is an island on Dominaria, called Urborg, a place haunted by its past, left alone by most people of the plane. Deep in the swamps of Urborg, there is a workshop, empty of life. It has been left by its owner, and no new owner seems to want to claim it. Somewhere inside this workshop, something shifted. There was a change, the tiniest change, but still one that would have impact on all of time and space.

Sorin woke up disoriented and confused. It took him some time to remember where he was and why he was there. As he shuffled to his feet, he muttered a few curses, wishing horrible things would happen to the pyromancer who tricked him into going here. Chandra, the traitor. At that time, he didn't know why he had trusted her. It wasn't his style, trusting a stranger that much. Normally, he wouldn't trust anyone like that, not even one of his closer allies. _This is new_, he thought, fearing what could be behind his unusual behaviour.

Boots beat against rock floor and the dungeon door burst open. Down the corridor walked a group of soldiers carrying steel spears. Sorin looked around, just now noticing that he was the only prisoner. Sorin got to his feet, assuming they were there for him. And he was proven right, as the spearmen opened his cell door. Two of them seemed to be carrying a new prisoner. This one was a girl on the brink of womanhood; she couldn't be more than sixteen years old. A man who seemed to be the leader, due to his ridiculously impractical helmet, spoke to Sorin.

"Listen, beast," he said, part threatening, part mocking. "We brought you food. Orders from the boss." Sorin suddenly realised why the girl was there. They intended for her to be eaten. And if he was to be honest with himself, Sorin wanted little more than doing just that. But he didn't.

"If you want me to be able to eat, you have to release me," Sorin said grimly, noticing after he had spoken that his voice was no longer bound by the muting spell. The leader of the soldiers seemed to become a bit nervous, but he did his best to hide it.

"Of course," he said. "Just sit still while my men remove your chains." Two soldiers began unfastening Sorin's chains. He could feel his freedom return little by little. The exact moment the last link of the last chain no longer touched his skin, Sorin thrust his arms into the two soldiers' chests, ripping out their hearts. Not long after, all the soldiers, the man with the ridiculous helmet, and the girl were all dead, their blood colouring the hallway red. He was well on his way to freedom already. Did they really think they could contain him?

On the many market squares of Ravnica, all kinds of people can be found. There are traders, poets, soothsayers, writers, mercenaries, and an immense amount of ordinary townsfolk. High above, there are usually Azorius officials watching the scene to make sure drastic, ambitious criminality is kept to a minimum. Were they to combat small-scale crime, such as pocket thievery or fraud, their job would have been close to impossible. On one such square, a shadowy figure sat on an embroidered carpet, listening to the musings of an old woman, a seer. She lit a stick of incense, and breathed slowly in the scented smoke. Her eyes closed softly, and she began to murmur, speaking hidden truths clouded in spouts of gibberish.

"You have come a long way," she whispered. "Another… world, no it can't… demons… an angel… returned from exile… a vampire… a walker, a traveller… you are following him. Revenge… I see, I see… a leader… you will avenge his death. But there is more, you have another motive." He stopped her with a motion of the hand.

"No more! I want you to tell me about this vampire. Tell me anything you can," he said from beneath the shadows of his hood. The old woman nodded, obliging his orders.

"The vampire you seek… is imprisoned, caught by an enemy… a mighty enemy. He does not know them; he doesn't see what danger he is in. But there is a girl…" The woman silenced. She began shaking, her eyes rolling back. She opened her mouth wide and gasped for air. "The future! It is not what it was! Something has changed, something small, yet big. We will all be caught in the crossfire of time!"


	6. Chapter 6

Chandra walked down the street leading away from the chancery, in her mind leaving it for the last time. She wanted nothing more to do with those horrible people. Her boots clattered against the pavement, drawing a lot of attention as she pushed her way past merchants and commoners. She decided to draw some more and added some swing to her gait, showing off her hips to anyone within viewing distance. It seemed to work. Merchants went silent in the middle of trades, their lips caught mid-sentence, their eyes pulled towards the woman that was now the focus point of the fantasies of all the men – and some of the women – in the immediate proximity. She wasn't unfamiliar with it, and she had even used it as a tool before, but now she was simply assuring herself that she was still as attractive as before. She needed it now more than ever.

After leaving the still rambling fortune teller, the mysterious, black-clad man began searching for his next goal. He had gone to great efforts in order to leave Innistrad, and had found it an equally difficult mission to navigate around this city world. But it all required that of him, the greater plan demanded it. Locating the target was easy, as she was currently the centre of attention for an entire street. The man sighed audibly, obviously not very pleased with her behaviour. If she only knew what was on stake, she would perhaps keep a lower profile, but the man doubted it. According to his papers, this woman rarely did that. He decided to follow her for a while, keeping just out of sight until the right moment, when he could push her into a narrow, less crowded street without being noticed.

A trail of blood went through the corridors of the chancery, crossing the occasional puddle. His face and clothes smeared in blood, Sorin exited through the main entrance. Two guards that clearly hadn't expected an enemy coming from inside turned around to point at the vampire with their ornate spears. Sorin was done with the fun now and merely drained the life energy from them, instead of making a big show out of it. He wondered at the back of his head why he hadn't planeswalked away, why he had chosen to stay on a plane he clearly had no business being on. Why was he here after all? Yes, Chandra had brought him here. After she had captured him on Innistrad, then released him so he could help her defeat the demon, she insisted that they went to Ravnica. It was partially because Sorin was not exactly on friendly terms with anyone at all on Innistrad, but also because Chandra had spoken of some friends of her, that Sorin would be interested in meeting. In hindsight, it all seemed very suspicious. Walking casually down the street, Sorin wiped some of the blood off of himself, trying to understand where he was going and why he didn't just leave Ravnica right now.

The man in the black robes knew that after pushing Chandra, there would usually be fire, excessive amounts of it, but he hoped intensely that she was in a different mood today. To the man's surprise, it seemed like his prayers had been answered. He was relieved to see that the pyromancer stumbled into the alley without screaming or incinerating him. Chandra quickly turned around to see what had happened, still a bit nervous after her ordeals with the organisation she had delivered Sorin to. When she noticed that it was a pretty harmless-looking man that had pushed her, she began preparing a simple fire spell to make him run away burning.

"Wait!" the man said, holding up his hands in front of his face, still hidden in the dark hood. Well, this was unusual. Chandra let the fire die out. "Thank you," he continued. "My name is Teran, and I'm from Innistrad."

"Another planeswalker," Chandra muttered. It wasn't a question.

"Oh no, you are wrong, Miss Nalaar. I am only a humble geistcaller. It has taken me great effort to follow you here." He had definitely caught Chandra's attention now. She had never heard of someone who was able to planeswalk without actually being a planeswalker. "The details concerning my travel are irrelevant, Miss Nalaar. I am here to warn you." That was as far as he got before he suddenly was lifted off the ground and his life was ended with a loud snap of his neck. Sorin released his grip on the now lifeless body and smiled grimly. The young pyromancer in front of him was terrified.

Dominaria was shaking and every living being could feel it. It was a tremor that spread through thoughts instead of the ground, disturbing recent memories and mixing up thoughts. All over the plane, it was as if a fraction of a second had been taken out of time. But although everyone noticed it, no one took further note. They all just dismissed it as a trick of the mind. In reality, it was far more than that. It was something that would mean the doom of the world, or the rebirth of an age that could never have been. It was the revival of limitless possibilities, previously lost to oblivion. And it all happened inside an abandoned workshop in Urborg.

Inside this particular workshop, a rift in time was rapidly expanding. It had been a long time since the rifts had been closed, but for some reason, this microscopic rift had remained, bleeding time while it waited for the moment to fulfil its mysterious purpose. Out of the rift that now reached from wall to wall fell a man, naked, exhausted and confused. He landed heavily on the floor, and just lay there, trying to regain his breath. It didn't take long before he realised that something had gone very wrong. He was alive, and the thought of it almost made him panic.


	7. Chapter 7

The Vedalken researcher Rethrach had learned many things from his studies of the suns of Mirrodin, which provided mana to the entire world. He had gained a deeper understanding of how mana is deeply intertwined with the presence of life on planes, and how it is essential to far more than just magic. Recently, he had to abandon his studies because of the Phyrexian invasion. He thought it was unfair that he would have to hide from them, he who had never done anyone anything wrong. In his new chambers, a tent at the Resistance camp Slagmaw, he no longer studied the intricate physics of mana or the cycles of the tide, but instead provided medical attention for the wounded. He and the rest of the surgeons were close to inventing a tool that could cure phyresis in its early stages. The invention would be a great development in favour of the Resistance, but Rethrach was rather uninterested in the work. If he could choose freely, he would be studying more abstract matters, which was why he had snuck away from work to experiment with a mana condenser. The device was supposed to compress an immense amount of many inside a small orb, allowing Rethrach to study more accurately how mana was connected not only to magic and life, but also to space and time.

The results shocked him. He blinked, unable to accept what was happening. Inside the mana orb, time seemed to move randomly, throw itself around, and repeat over and over.

"Time can be rewritten," whispered Rethrach, terrified at the implications.

A superstitious person would have said his words were responsible for what happened next, but they would be wrong. This was far greater than that. A wave of time washed over the landscape of New Phyrexia, changing the world as it passed. Rethrach saw it coming towards him, he saw how the world rapidly transformed, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

A creature that resembled a human, but was both more and less than that, knelt before the tall, white form of the praetor Elesh Norn.

"You are back," the praetor stated. She turned to look at the kneeling creature. "What news do you bring, Jor Kadeen, Paragon of the Orthodoxy?"

"The last remnants of the auriok have been given the choice between compleation and being wiped out. As expected, only a handful were enlightened enough to choose compleation. The rest have been given what they chose. Grand cenobite, it pleases me to be able to serve such a great cause as ours." Jor silenced, putting his hand on his sword. "Do you require more of me, grand cenobite?" Elesh put her hand on Jor's head.

"Do not ask for what I require of you, Jor," she said, her metallic voice resonating against the porcelain walls. "Search instead your heart and see for yourself if there is something you should do." Jor nodded.

"The planeswalker Elspeth Tirel, sworn enemy of Phyrexia, was nowhere to be found," Jor began. "She must have escaped from the plane before she could be destroyed." The praetor lifted her hand and took a few steps away from Jor.

"She will see Phyrexia's glory," Elesh stated. "Sooner or later, she will be destroyed."

The plane Shandalar is an elusive world, constantly drifting through the Multiverse, never quite in the same place. This has caused it to become a world rarely visited by planeswalkers, and the few that come there usually leave within short time due to the excessively hostile nature. While pleasing to the eye, the jungles of Shandalar contain dangers unlike most other worlds, perhaps only surpassed by the wild forests of Muraganda. There are however some who despite the harsh conditions, choose to remain on Shandalar for longer periods, maybe even travel through the dense woodlands. Those are usually fools, madmen, or – people who have nothing left to lose.

Elspeth felt like that sort of person as she cut through the vines and branches, slowly clearing a path through the brush. When she was a child, her home had been destroyed. She came to Bant, where she could glimpse a promising future as a knight in a land ruled by strict laws and untainted by war, until Alara was reborn, and she realised Bant was only a part of a greater plane. The war that broke loose caused her to flee, go into exile, living as a gladiator until the Mirran planeswalker Koth approached her with a plea for help. Phyrexia, the destroyers of her original home were invading Koth's world. With a sort of courage she had rarely ever felt, she decided to help him and the rest of Mirrodin. For a while, it did actually seem like they would manage to do it. She, Koth and another planeswalker called Venser were trying to liberate the world, but after Venser took off on his own, presumably betraying them, they slowly came to realise that there was nothing they could do. Venser was gone, and Karn, the creator of Mirrodin, had been turned into a god of Phyrexia. They fought back all they could, but it the end, it wouldn't help. Every place Elspeth had ever been close to calling a home had been destroyed, ruined forever. Was it her fault? Did she somehow carry bad luck around with her? Possibly. That's why the dangers of Shandalar didn't matter. She had already lost everything, hadn't she?

Sorin and Chandra walked down one of Ravnica's more unpleasant streets. "You killed him right in front of my eyes," Chandra wheezed at the vampire. "You killed him!"

"You have a very acute skill of observation," Sorin said dully, keeping his gaze fixed forwards. The pyromancer did not seem to take this reply well.

"Listen here, you stuck-up, rotten, vampiric asshole," she roared, "If you do not stop with that condescending tone this instant, I will make you!" Sorin merely grinned.

"I would like to see you try," he said in his usual, dry voice. Chandra's hair was aflame. No one in the district had expected the explosion that followed.


End file.
